


Heathens

by closetcellist



Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Dark!Andrew, Freedom Fighters, Gen, dark!liam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist
Summary: Radical elements of Ireland's resistance movement are forced to escape to London-in-the-Air. How much trouble can three men possibly cause?





	1. Chapter 1

“Move!” Liam bellowed at him, though Andrew was already running full tilt ahead, the sound of another explosion behind them spurring his spirit forward even if his body was already going as fast as it could. The crack of flaming wood giving up the ghost cut through the icy air that burned almost as much as fire in his lungs.

“Where’s Kelly?” Andrew called over his shoulder, wasting his breath in white puffs. The other man should have been with Liam, there to meet them before the first explosion was set off, but he’d been nowhere to be found and they could not wait.

Liam didn’t answer, his expression set and hard, frozen in a determined scowl.

Andrew shook his head, turning his focus back on escaping the blast radius. O’Toole could certainly make some impressive bombs, though he really didn’t understand how the man himself managed to survive setting them off.

Liam and Andrew split once they were out of range, taking different routes back to the bar, though they abandoned their usual alleyways, not wanting to leave clear prints in the untouched snow there. Andrew arrived first, let into the storeroom by McIntire, moving the barrels and sacks off of the top of the trapdoor down to the small hidden room beneath. Liam arrived just as he was starting down the ladder—he must have been running all out the entire time, as he always took a much longer route than Andrew did, though the older brother hardly seemed out of breath. Liam closed the trapdoor over them once the lanterns in the underground room were lit and they settled in to wait in tense silence and see if O’Toole would make it back.

Andrew looked his brother over absently as they waited, noting the blood on his hands. There didn’t seem to be any other blood though, so it likely wasn’t Liam’s. The glaring absence of Kelly, who’d gone in with Liam, should have been with Liam the whole time, pointed ownership in another direction.

The trapdoor opened a few minutes later and a sooty but generally unharmed O’Toole clambered down   to join them. One look around the small room unambiguously revealed the missing member. “Where’s Kelly?” O’Toole asked, immediately. Andrew looked over at Liam expectantly, though by now, he suspected the truth.

“Kelly’s dead,” Liam said, his mouth a hard line. “Our information was wrong and we missed guards. Took a bullet in the chest.”

“Fuck,” O’Toole snarled, spitting on the floor. When that wasn’t enough, he turned and kicked the wall. “ _Jaysus Fuck!_ ”

“Someone sold us out,” Liam said, coldly, as Andrew rose and grabbed O’Toole’s arm to stop him from punching the bricks. He’d broken his hand once before that way and they didn’t need to lose any more skills. Just then, there were three knocks on the trapdoor above them, a pause, and then two more. Liam looked up and narrowed his eyes before hammering his fist twice on the ladder that led up.

The trapdoor opened and McIntire peeked down at them. “You’ve got to go,” he said, lowly. “All of you.”

“Why’s that?” Andrew demanded, glaring back up at him.

“Word is people are on their way here now,” McIntire said, not at all phased by Andrew’s glare. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the receiving end of it. “Someone talked or you were followed. Don’t know, don’t particularly care. You just can’t be here when they show up.”

“How d’we know you’re not selling us out right now?” O’Toole demanded furiously.

“If I wanted you lot gone, I’d just leave you locked in here while I called the law down on you, wouldn’t I?” McIntire said, exasperated. “You’re wasting your own time, now. Get out while you can.” With that, he pulled away, leaving the trap door open.

O’Toole snarled something else unintelligible while Andrew looked at Liam. “What are we doin’?”

Liam stared off into the distance for a moment, expression inscrutable. “We leave,” he decided. “Our information was wrong; we’ve been betrayed. Don’t know how many people have turned against us.”

“Leave to where?” Andrew asked, nudging O’Toole toward the ladder up.

“The docks,” Liam said. “We’ll see if our man there is still loyal enough to do what he promised.”

Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “Leave Ireland altogether?” he asked with some disbelief. They’d made contingency plans for a lot of things, and that was one, and he’d known it. But in his deepest heart he’d never thought they’d really need it, or rather, that Liam would ever choose leaving over dying, and Andrew would have willingly made the same choice.

“We’ve turned some of our own against us,” Liam said. “They’re wrong, and if I ever find them, they’ll learn to know it quick enough. But their point is taken. We’re not making enough impact here. We have to strike where it will hurt them, and hurt them good; right in the heart. We can’t do that from here.”

Andrew looked uncertain, but Liam knew best, always, so he kept his doubts to himself and climbed up the ladder, Liam following shortly after. McIntire was waiting by the door to the storeroom, keeping an eye out, as he should have been. O’Toole and Andrew slipped past after McIntire gave the all clear, but Liam stopped next to him, grabbing McIntire by the shirtfront, slamming him against the wall.

“If I find out it was you,” Liam said, quietly, coldly, in a calm that was belied by his body language, “I will slice you clean in two.”

“I know you would,” McIntire said, braver than many men would be in his position, though he could only hold Liam’s icy gaze for so long. “Which is why it wasn’t me. You three better move fast.”

Liam nodded once, sharply, letting go of McIntire’s shirt and clasping him on the shoulder for a moment instead. “Tomorrow, you spread the word we left. Anyone who asks, tell them a different place. You hear of anything happening where you told one of them, you found the traitor.”

“And when I find him?” McIntire asked. He didn’t have Liam’s stomach for the bloodier bits of their work, as necessary as they might be, but he’d do what he needed to for the cause.

“Throw him in the lake,” Liam said, expressionlessly. “Let him freeze. That’s where he belongs.”

McIntire grimaced but nodded. “Right, if we find him.” There was a sharp bang as the door to the bar slammed open. It might have just been carelessness and the wind, but tonight that seemed foolish to hope for. “You best move,” McIntire said, stepping out into the bar. “I’ll stall ‘em as long as I can.”

Liam clapped him one more time on the shoulder and took off, out the back door and into the alleyway, climbing up the drainpipe to the roof where Andrew and O’Toole waited. “There’s five men in the front,” Andrew murmured.

“Hope they all go in,” Liam said. “Back was clear, so that’s the lot of them. Split up once we’re down and meet back at the warehouse on the docks. Whoever’s first, raise the signal for our man.”

Of course, things continued to go wrong. Only four of the men went inside, but that was close enough. Liam waved Andrew to the edge of the roof, and he dropped down, almost silently in the snow, slipping up behind the man to slit his throat before he could make a sound. Andrew lowered the officer’s body to the ground and whistled once to call the others down. They slipped away into the city, and managed to get far enough away that they couldn’t hear the shout of alarm when the other officers found their fallen colleague.

They split up in the city, taking winding routes through the darkest parts on their way to the docks, and Andrew managed to get there without being followed. Liam showed up second, and there were a few tense moments while they waited for O’Toole, but he did eventually appear, still unscathed.

At the docks, while they waited for their contact, Liam finally briefed the other two on what had occurred.  Liam and Kelly had managed to get in without too much difficulty, but once they’d gotten to the offices, things had gone south. Liam had managed to get the papers he’d hoped to find, pulling them out to show Andrew and O’Toole while they waited, but before they could slip away, they’d been surprised by the guards they hadn’t known to expect, and Kelly had been shot before Liam could take them all out.

Liam finished the retelling just as their contact responded to their signal. O’Sullivan conversed quietly with Liam for a few minutes, and for the first time that night, luck was with them. There was a passenger ship heading to London-in-the-Air that night after refueling and picking up a little extra to trade. O’Sullivan swore he could sneak them on, though once there it would be up to them to stay hidden.

“We’ll blast them out of the goddamn sky,” O’Toole muttered to himself, chewing viciously on a matchstick.

“Yes,” Liam said, looking off into the middle-distance. “That should make an impact.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to say what had gone wrong—neither of the O’Rourke brothers knew enough about explosives to guess, and O’Toole had never been a good teacher, a combination of secretive and impatient that seemed designed to ensure no one ever knew what exactly he was up to. The plan had been a good one, or so it had seemed, and it had nearly come off. But this time, O’Toole’s device had gone off early and the man hadn’t reappeared at their meeting place. Andrew had gone back for him, against their long-standing protocol, and found him bleeding and unconscious, too close to the blast zone.

Andrew had carried the man free of the area, fast enough that he hadn’t been seen in the low light of the scattered lamps, he hoped, and Liam had taken one look at them both and directed them toward the warehouses, somewhere out of sight to see what the worst of the damage was. Liam was nothing close to a doctor, but he’d seen enough injuries to know with some level of certainty what someone would wake up from and what they wouldn’t. O’Toole had a nasty-looking burn along a good deal of his left side and a collection of smaller cuts that must have come from the debris. A quick and light exploration revealed no bumps or cuts on his head, nothing other than the burn, but he still hadn’t woken up.

“He needs a doctor,” Liam decided, cool while Andrew worried.

“Where are we going to find a doctor?” Andrew asked, picking O’Toole up again and settling him on his back, trying not to aggravate anything, though there wasn’t much chance of not touching something injured.

“I know one,” Liam said, leading the way, scouting ahead to ensure they had clear passage. There were noises now, from the direction they’d come, but those were familiar—people panicking or shouting to direct people not to panic as someone tried to put out the fires—and they ignored them, losing the sounds to distance as they moved, as quickly and quietly as they could.

Liam led them out of the warehouse district and into the heart of the platform, past the close-pressed buildings of the low part of town and through the emptiest streets he could find toward somewhere nicer. They’d been in London-in-the-Air for a little less than a month, but Liam had always learned quickly, and he’d come to know a good deal of the platforms well enough to navigate without a map. Andrew had little time to marvel at it, however; he’d spent that time gathering supplies and contacts and had done well enough at that, though none of his own explorations had taken him into the nicer parts of the platform. Tonight’s excursion had been their first, and he had to wonder if it was just coincidence that it had gone awry so quickly.

Finally, Liam brought them to a stop, out of the light pools of the lamps lining the street, near the side door of a set of flats. Andrew shifted his grip on O’Toole, making sure the man didn’t slip off his back and provoking a low groan. That was encouraging; if he was making noise that meant he wasn’t dead, and maybe was waking up. “You sure this is the place?” he asked Liam under his breath. It wasn’t exactly a mansion, but Andrew had been expecting something a lot more back-alley than this.

“This doctor has a lot of secrets,” Liam answered absently, looking down the street to make sure they weren’t being watched, and checking the windows as best he could to make sure there wouldn’t be any unnecessary witnesses to their presence. It was late, well into the night, and the streets looked empty of anyone other than them. “I’m certain we can convince him to help us. Just have to hope he doesn’t have anyone staying overnight.”

It took another few minutes for Liam to be satisfied with whatever inspections he was making, but Andrew waited as patiently as he could while O’Toole gently bled on him. Just as Andrew was about to speak again, to ask if they could just risk it, Liam knocked on the door.

A moment of silence passed—no movement on the street and no movement in the house, and Andrew began to wonder if maybe they had to hope the _doctor_ was staying overnight—before finally, they could hear footsteps within the house, though no lights came on. The steps paused on the other side of the door for longer than necessary if the doctor was going to warmly welcome them inside, but eventually the door opened a crack for the man to peer out.

Dr. Jhandir took one look at the group of them, shadowy, suspicious figures appearing in the middle of the night, and tried to close the door without a word, but Liam’s arm was already braced against it and his foot was already in the doorway. He didn’t push, not yet, but the door certainly wasn’t closing. “Doctor,” Liam said, quietly. “We require your services.”

“I’m afraid it’s not exactly business hours,” Dr. Jhandir said, trying valiantly to close the door while also trying not to seem like he was struggling to do just that. It was a wasted effort.

“We don’t have the luxury of waiting that long,” Liam said, reasonably. His expression was not pleading or desperate, just very, very reasonable. “I thought you took a kind of oath, doctors.”

Dr. Jhandir looked the men over again—where Liam was not an obvious immediate threat, Andrew made a much worse first impression, especially in the dark after he’d been carrying a bleeding O’Toole for a ways—trying to think of a way to successfully make them leave without letting them inside and coming up blank. And he most certainly couldn’t keep them out on the street, with the risk of them creating a scene. The infirmary was empty at the moment, a blessing and a curse, so he sighed quietly and stepped back, opening the door. “I suppose you should come in then,” he said begrudgingly, but Liam was already moving inside, Andrew following with a glance at the doctor that was frankly uncharitable, considering the circumstances.

Dr. Jhandir directed them through the house to his office, taking them as little into his home as possible. Liam glanced around at the various boxes that had been relegated there with faintly disguised interest, while Andrew lay O’Toole out, the injured man letting out another groan, though his eyes remained closed, somewhere in the realm just outside of consciousness. In the light of the room, he looked very unpleasant, the visible burns shiny and pink, and the scratches around them angry and red, and Dr. Jhandir forgot about the intruders in his home for a few moments as he conducted his examination of the patient. It all looked treatable, and treatable in a way that meant there was no reason for the men to stay here beyond the time it took to bandage him up.

“Would you mind telling me who you are?” Dr. Jhandir asked, before he did any real work on his patient. He directed his question mostly at Liam, who smiled, thinly and without warmth.

“Liam,” he said, before inclining his head in his brother’s direction, “and Andrew. And your patient is O’Toole. Now, if you don’t mind…”

Information that told Dr. Jhandir essentially nothing at all. “And how did this happen to your friend?”

Andrew crossed his arms and glowered, really quite effectively. “Why d’you need to know that?”

“It is a bit concerning that he is unconscious,” Dr. Jhandir said, unfazed in his professionalism. “It would make it much easier to treat him if I had all of the information.”

“There was an explosion,” Liam said, which was true.

Dr. Jhandir looked at him for a long moment, and both men knew what Liam really meant and knew Dr. Jhandir knew. “I see,” he said, his mind working furiously to think if one of the Rebellion’s enemies would be so brazen as to come here, or if this was an entirely different threat. He turned his attention back to O’Toole while he thought. “I’ll need help to get him undressed to see the extent of his wounds. It looks like there might be abrasions on his back based on the damage to his clothes.”

Liam nodded at Andrew, who stepped over and helped Dr. Jhandir get O’Toole out of his shirt with more care than the doctor had expected. Once the full extent of his injuries could be seen, Dr. Jhandir set to work, cleaning the wounds and wrapping them after applying the appropriate ointment.

It didn’t take terribly long to bandage the man, though he remained stubbornly on the wrong side of consciousness. Dr. Jhandir had only thought of one potentially viable solution for dealing with the apparent saboteurs now that his usefulness in their interaction was coming to an end. “I think it would be best if he rested a moment, to see if he’ll wake naturally,” Dr. Jhandir said, stepping away from the table—and from Andrew—and toward the shelves behind his desk. They held a variety of things—salves, medicines, ethers, and drinkable alcohols to name a few. “Would you care for a drink, while you wait?”

“Kind of you,” Andrew said, crossing his arms and resuming his intimidating posture.

Dr. Jhandir turned his back on them, selecting a bottle and then selecting something else. “I hope scotch is acceptable.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Liam said, watching Dr. Jhandir’s back as he poured the drinks. When he turned around, he offered them with a smile and Liam smiled back, neither looking particularly happy.

Before Andrew could take a drink from his glass, Liam held up a hand, stopping him. He took a small sip of the scotch himself, holding it in his mouth and rolling it around for a moment while Dr. Jhandir tried not to look tense. After perhaps ten seconds, he spit the liquid back into his cup. “Interesting,” he said. “Don’t drink that Andrew. It seems we haven’t made the right impression on our new friend.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Dr. Jhandir said, as calmly as he could, though he felt rather frozen, having been caught so quickly and neatly.

“I certainly know what scotch should taste like,” Liam said, setting his glass down, while Andrew slammed his on the nearest surface with a furious expression on his face. But Liam didn’t give him the sign to act, continuing on while Dr. Jhandir tried not to look worried. “What did you put in it?”

“I thought you might benefit from a bit of sleep yourselves,” Dr. Jhandir said, trying for bravado now.

Liam considered the doctor for a long moment before coming to some kind of decision, nodding to himself. “I see. How kind of you. But I’m sure you understand there’s very little time to rest, when you’re on our path. I think it’s time for us to take our leave. Andrew,” Liam nodded toward O’Toole, and Andrew stepped over, still scowling at Dr. Jhandir, to gather up their compatriot, wrapping his shirt around him.

“I’m certain we’ll see you again,” Liam continued, stepping toward the door. “Good evening, doctor.”

Dr. Jhandir remained in his office, in the light, until he heard the sound of the door to the street open and close. He finally forced himself to move to lock it, sliding the bolt across as well, before retreating back to the comfort of his parlor. This “Liam” knew far, far too much, Dr. Jhandir thought worriedly, and he knew far too little about this new threat. He should, he thought with hindsight, have given them gin. You couldn’t taste anything in gin.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken Dr. Jhandir much longer than he’d expected to come across the men again. Considering how brashly they’d entered his home and how dramatic the results of their work were (or, the doctor had to admit, what he had to assume was their work as the thin-edged whine of fire sirens cut through the quiet dark of the nights in the days and weeks that followed his meeting them), he’d expected the men themselves to be a bit easier to find. Though espionage certainly wasn’t his specialty, he had believed himself to be at least somewhat adept at locating people, but it seemed this Liam and his men were, in their movements if not their actions, extraordinarily secretive and immensely careful.

That was another point in their favor—though their methods seemed a bit more personally endangering than he would really prefer, they at least were properly focused. And, and this was important, seemed realistic enough not to be put off by perfectly reasonable methods of interrogation, he added to his own internal monologue, his expression adopting a veil of disgust. It would have been one thing if he’d failed to dispose of the body properly and brought some kind of attention to the Rebellion, or if he had done the deed in front of an audience, but it was quite another to find out that his own organization was spying on him. It was the lack of trust that stung worse than anything else. He didn’t know how many informants there were—though Dr. Suttler had to be one of them, or would volunteer to be one of them soon enough that it was essentially the same thing—but it was insulting, _beyond_ insulting, to be so distrusted even _before_ he’d done anything that rubbed their morals wrong.

Daphne Massey had been merciless in her dressing-down, and quite frankly the doctor thought she’d enjoyed it far too much, even as angry as she’d been. It seemed hypocritical to say the least. He hadn’t even been given a real opportunity to defend himself, as she’d brushed off his (true!) assertions that it had been self-defense, and then defense of their organization. It is weren’t for Dr. Massey…

Even that might not matter much, at any rate. Not if he had his druthers and could _find_ the blasted men. He’d spent too long working for people who didn’t appreciate his skills and if the Rebellion couldn’t understand his methods either, he’d find someone who would, and soon. He was already feeling the prickling of eyes on him, in his own home no less, and that was really a straw too far.

Not to mention, if all of the trouble over the last few weeks had come from this Liam and his group, they’d been extraordinarily active, and if the government was having as much trouble as he was locating the source, they were likely to blame the group they knew about and step up efforts to quash them. Dr. Jhandir had to admire the rather neat state of affairs Liam had created for himself, assuming he led their whole operation, a leap the doctor was easily willing to make.

His careful searches through the few hard-copy Rebellion records that existed and equally careful inquiries of the few members he was willing to trust a few inches had turned up nothing about them—if the tension in the upper leadership was anything to go by, they had no idea who these men were either. So the doctor had to try his hand at playing detective and beat cop on the streets, when it seemed safe to wander for a while. Each time his attempts turned up nothing, and he was close to real frustration when he stepped out of his flat to see one of the men—the bruiser, Andrew, his mind supplied—waiting in the shadows across the street.

Dr. Jhandir carefully locked his door behind him and crossed the street, not exactly heading for Andrew, but as he’d suspected the other man fell into step with him as he passed.

“Liam wants to see you,” Andrew said gruffly. His expression indicated that he didn’t agree with that sentiment himself.

“And if I decline that offer?” Dr. Jhandir asked, more from curiosity than any real inclination in that direction.

Andrew shrugged. “Then you won’t see him. Ever.”

Dr. Jhandir nodded to himself. “Then I suppose I’ll have to accept his generous invitation.” He glanced up at Andrew and had to work to stifle his amusement at the disgruntled expression on the other man’s face. He didn’t press further, letting them walk in, if not companionable, then at least unruffled silence as Andrew led the way, toward one of the platform’s edges, through a twisting maze of alleys the doctor tried and failed to keep track of.

Andrew came to a halt in what had to be the dingiest alley the doctor had ever had the misfortune of stepping into, gesturing toward what looked, at first glance, to be a very sad wall, though the grays and browns and smudges revealed themselves to contain a doorway after a moment of staring, like one of those trick pictures that switches from a young woman to a rabbit. Andrew stepped forward and knocked a complicated pattern onto the wood before opening the door and nudging the doctor inside.

It wasn’t well lit, but the lamps were bright enough to reveal a mostly empty room—a few chairs, a table, and most notably crates upon crates carefully stacked against the back wall—populated by the other two men Dr. Jhandir had met before.

Liam didn’t circle him, though in the scene the doctor had stepped into felt like he should have. Instead, he stood statue-still in the middle of the room. The one he’d patched up—O’Toole, he remembered—was pacing the room looking for all the world like a caged tiger, while Andrew took up a position near the door that indicated their conversation now began and ended at Liam’s whim.

It was an impressive enough display, but not quite enough to cause worry. Not yet, at any rate, not when he’d been invited. “You’ve been trying to find us,” Liam said, and there wasn’t a question in his voice. Dr. Jhandir had thought he’d been rather sneaky about it but he supposed that just meant they were better than he’d expected, which was, overall, good news.

“Yes,” Dr. Jhandir admitted readily enough. “I’ve…heard some of your work. And I’ve now reason to believe I may have backed the wrong horse in this race.”

“You think we’re recruiting?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think I have many useful skills,” Dr. Jhandir replied. “As well as information about both the government and my current organization, which could prove useful to you.”

O’Toole let out a scoff at that, but Liam’s expression remained impassive.

“I was hoping I might talk to your leadership,” Dr. Jhandir continued, though he was fairly certain that leadership was Liam.

“You are,” Liam said, confirming his suspicion, though the doctor was surprised when he continued. “And our entire ‘organization.’”

“There’s just the three of you?” Dr. Jhandir asked, his shock more evident on his face than he’d have liked if he’d known. “That’s—” the words _impressive_ and _stupid_ warred briefly to be said, but instead he finished with a slightly weak, “not what I expected.”

“We’re very efficient,” Liam said. His tone was cold, but Andrew could see a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth and he let out a quiet sigh. “But we don’t have time for a full interview now. We’ve got something to take care of tonight.”

“I see,” Dr. Jhandir said, though he didn’t really—the other man had invited him here, tonight, after all, when it seemed he could have chosen his time at his leisure.

“Instead, you simply have a choice,” Liam said, halting the doctor in his tracks even before he could turn to the door. “First, you should know—we know about your Rebellion. Not all of it, maybe, but enough. And we are not interested in replacing the government.” He paused, for just a second, and Dr. Jhandir wondered if he had been a preacher before this, because his speech was certainly meant to be a _speech_. “We’re aiming to destroy it. If that doesn’t appeal to you, you can go ahead and leave. We won’t bother each other until you get in our way, but you won’t find us again. If it does...we’ll try you out.”

“None of us are aiming to need a doctor tonight,” Andrew cut in, him and O’Toole both clearly taken by surprise by the offer.

“He has hands,” Liam said. “Let him carry something. Let him,” Another pause. Effective. “Commit.”

They were dangerous, it was obvious, and certainly too small—not the organization the doctor had expected to find. Not the neighborhood he was interested in being in for any length of time. Not the smart choice. Too showy. Too dangerous. Not squeamish. Angry. Effective.

“What do you need me to carry?” Dr. Jhandir asked.


End file.
